


The Last to Know

by blue_pointer



Series: 1944 [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bottom Steve Rogers, Captain America: The First Avenger, Comedy, Howling Commandos - Freeform, M/M, Secrets, Stucky - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 08:23:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8279356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_pointer/pseuds/blue_pointer
Summary: Bucky thinks he can keep his and Steve's relationship a secret from the Commandos. He's 1/5th right.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in my head months ago. Sorry for the delay.

Nights when they were out on mission were cold. Stark had created these amazing battery-powered heaters that didn’t smoke or steam, but portable tents were often still necessary to keep the heat in.

There were three tents between them, the division always: Jones and Dernier, Cap and Sergeant Barnes, Falsworth and Dum Dum--with Morita climbing into whichever of the two non-command tents had a free space thanks to watch duty. He usually ended up with Jones or Dernier, because no amount of reasoning or browbeating could convince Dugan to stop making racist “jokes.” There were times Steve had considered expelling Dum Dum from the Commandos, but Bucky was attached. He told Steve Dugan was trying, but you could really only expect so much from a knucklescraper from DUMBO.

Regardless of who was on watch, no one slept in the captain’s tent except for Bucky. Every night it was the same, the two of them turning in--if they weren’t on watch--together. They did everything together, almost like they were two halves of the same person.

Steve’s and Bucky’s tent hardly needed one of Stark’s heaters. Most nights there was more than enough friction and body heat to keep them warm. Their lovemaking in those days was done with near-reckless abandon, a kind of desperation overcoming them when they were finally alone. They went at it as if each night might be their last together.

Bucky had spent weeks gazing into the empty eye sockets of death’s bloody skull. He remembered vividly what it had been like to think he’d never see Steve again. He was determined to waste no more of their precious time together.

Steve seemed to believe he was immortal, but his hunger for Bucky was a living thing, coiling, restless, determined to take everything his friend had and give it back double.

That was why Bucky had finally made a gag for Steve. He was too damned loud during sex.

Steve’s excuse was that sensations were heightened in his new body, but Bucky knew better. Steve had failed at self-control his whole life. The subtle art of stealth-fucking was not only beyond him, as far as Steve was concerned, it was beneath him. Their old argument about keeping things between them continued, with Steve saying that he didn’t care who knew and Bucky insisting--to the point of withholding sex--that they be as discreet as possible.

It was then in spite of Bucky’s best efforts, and because of Steve’s stubborn demonstrativeness, that they learned one morning the hard way just how obvious they had been all along.

Steve was out of the tent first, needing far less sleep than Bucky and being more of a morning person to start with. Whereas their lovemaking was like a brutal exercise routine from which Bucky needed time to recover, it seemed to recharge Steve, who wandered toward the patented heater over which Morita was grilling fish for breakfast with the bushiest of tails. “Mornin’!” Steve said, cheerful in spite of the grim day’s work ahead of them.

“Heya, Tiger,” Jones greeted him. “You’re in a good mood this morning.” Dernier was smoking his pipe, seated next to Jones. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he seemed to be trying hard not to smile. That was odd, Steve thought.

“Good Morning, Captain,” Falsworth greeted him crisply, leaning forward to check if the kettle was hot enough for his tea.

Steve chafed his hands together. “You guys ready to blow some stuff up today?”

Jacques was. And passionately declared himself so and then some. There was the smile he’d been hiding. Of course. Dernier was their demolitions specialist. And a damn good one, too.

Steve noted that one of his commandos had stayed uncharacteristically quiet since his arrival. Dum Dum was slouched over on a log, holding his head like he had a hangover. “You okay, Corporal?” Steve walked over to ask.

There was a brief pause. Morita’s fish sizzled. Gabe and Jacques exchanged a look. Falsworth’s kettle began to wail softly, piping steam into the 40 degree air.

Timothy Dugan of 156 Water St. New York, NY lowered his hand from his face and curled his fingers into a fist roughly the size of a Christmas ham. “Here’s the thing, Captain Steve,” he began. Jones and Dernier leaned forward, perfectly in synch, wearing matching expressions of gleefully intense interest. “I got a lotta respect for you.” 

Morita crunched off through the snow to check his rice supply.

“The work we do--it’s not easy--but it seems to come natural for you. You’re a real man. One of a kind.” Then he paused to consider. “And I gotta say, what you do in your personal life, that’s your business. I’m not here to judge you. That’s between you and God.” Dugan was trembling now, and it could just as easily have been from repressed emotion as repressed violence.

Slowly he rose to his feet. “But I swear on the sweet little baby Jesus, if you keep me awake one more goddamn night with your LOUD. FUCKING. INCESSANT. POUNDING. SARGE’s ASS…” Veins were standing out on his forehead. There was red in the whites of his eyes. “You and me are gonna have WORDS! I don’t give a shit if you ARE my C.O.”

Jacques and Gabe were holding their breath. Falsworth hid the lower half of his face behind an imported china teacup. Halfway between his tent and the fire, Morita paused, afraid the next crunching footstep might be what pushed Dugan over the edge.

Steve was cool as a cucumber. He could’ve busted Dum Dum back to private for even half of what he’d just said. He could’ve started a brawl, and everyone would have said it was his right. Instead, he just put his hands on his hips and asked, calmly, “What makes you think Bucky’s ass was the one getting pounded?”

Falsworth managed to inhale his tea, then spew it all over camp, coughing like a drowning man. Morita rushed over to pound him on the back in an attempt to help. Gabe smirked at Jacques, who swore at him before handing over five bucks. But Dugan. Dugan just got very wide-eyed, and very red in the face. He seemed to have frozen in his boots. He trembled slightly, but made no further move to either verbally or physically attack Steve.

There was a crunch, crunch, crunch in the background as their beloved sergeant--who had been just emerging from his tent as Steve decided to say what he had said--simply turned left and began to march into the woods, wearing nothing but his long johns, perhaps hoping to die alone where the wolves could feast on his bones.    

Falsworth--seeming to intuit Bucky’s utter humiliation-- caught his breath long enough to rush to his feet and pursue their fearless second in command. “I say, Barnes--Bucky...do come back!” And off he went, coughing all the way. Morita turned to get his fish off the grill just before it became inedible. Jones and Dernier clinked their tin coffee mugs together with a shared smile.

“I didn’t--but then--how--” Dum Dum’s brain was still trying to form a response. There was a good probability his face would remain red to the end of his days.

“Hey,” Steve told him. “It’s okay. No hard feelings, pal. No one’s judging you.” And he walked over to the coffee pot and poured himself a mug of joe, easy as you please. 

In the distance, one could still hear the lieutenant trying to bring Barnes back. “...really, the others of us have known for quite some time!”

“Where’s my rifle?”

“Surely that’s a bit rash, Sergeant!”

“You think I could make it to Switzerland on foot from here?”


End file.
